


Seriously?

by DiurnalDays



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Universe, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension, World Meeting (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiurnalDays/pseuds/DiurnalDays
Summary: America and England have a dirty little secret.





	Seriously?

**Author's Note:**

> Very serious title for a very serious fic that’s totally not entirely self-indulgent.

Today’s meeting was a meeting just like any other. One would think that placing a dozen immortal humans wise beyond their years into a board room would yield more results than it did, but alas, immortality more often bred idiocy than wisdom.

That’s what France mused, at least, when he returned from a wine break only to find the meeting in even more disarray than when he’d left only half an hour prior.

He sighed dramatically and pressed his fingers to his temples at the sight of at least three ongoing squabbles before homing in on the one situation he felt ready to interfere in -- a mounting cloud of tension between his favorite bickering lovebirds.

Well, not _actual_ lovebirds -- France would sooner swallow his entire collection of wine glasses whole than bet on America and England ever reconciling their differences, much less refraining from arguing for long enough to resolve their, ahem, _unresolved tensions_.

Alphas come from Mars and omegas come from Venus, as they do say.

France sauntered over to England and leaned an elbow on his shoulder, immediately breaking the intense staring and collar-pulling contest that had almost reached its breaking point before France’s interference. England immediately glared over his shoulder and made a move to shove France’s errant elbow away.

However, France was all too familiar with England’s habits to fall prey to such a half-hearted shove, so he smoothly avoided England’s hand and looped his arm around England’s shoulder in a move akin to a stranglehold.

“Angleterre!” France chirped, emphasizing the nickname England despised so dearly. “You haven’t informed me of any of your sexual exploits in such a long time! What else shall I dream about to pass the long hours of night?”

“I’m a tad busy here, in case you haven’t noticed,” England muttered. “Go shove a rose up your ruddy arse.”

France raised an eyebrow and clucked his tongue. How under the weather must his dearest rival be if his insults were so utterly toothless?

Normally illnesses weren’t the business of other nations -- colds and fevers could be caused by anything ranging from a small dip in the stock market to an entire city being wiped off the map -- but France took England’s state of affairs upon himself for the sole reason that England was on hormone blockers which gave him the scent and characteristics of a beta.

Though hormone blockers had existed for as long as humans had rubbed herbal salve into their wounds, modern hormone blockers, while effective, often had deleterious side effects when used for long periods of time by unmated omegas.

As it was, he felt a surge of familial concern when he saw England in such a weakened state -- even if that concern was at least slightly self-serving.

“Oh, Angleterre,” France cooed. “How you insult me so! I’m merely concerned about you and your health as a big brother should be. Let me feel your forehead--”

England slapped away France’s wayward hand with a scowl. France feigned a yelp of pain when he’d really barely felt England’s weak slap. Seriously, just how incapacitated was England? Normally he’d have twisted France’s arm behind his back by now!

“Bro, dude, he’s not sick at all,” America said as if reading France’s thoughts. He smiled with a friendly smile that wasn’t friendly at all -- a skill he’d perfected over the course of many staring matches waged against Russia over meeting tables during the Cold War.

France shivered.

America then hooked his fingers in England’s tie and tugged England forward with a positively antagonistic expression. “Though I do think that I’m overdue for an apology for that time he sneezed on my hamburger…”

“America--” England’s voice was strained, but not from anger. In a flash, America seemed to understand the unspoken command and loosened his grip on England’s tie just slightly.

France, however, wasn’t as focused on the (rather kinky) tie-pulling as he was on the ring of deep red marks visible above England’s crumpled shirt collar. England blushed heavily and pulled up his collar when he noticed France looking, but by then it was far too late.

“Ohoho!” France chortled, grinning ear to ear positively deviously. “Do my eyes deceive me, _mon cheri_?”

“Sod off,” England growled, but of course such Britishisms didn’t work when wielded against the old beast named France.

“So, Angleterre. Who is the lucky alpha?”

“Me!” America exclaimed.

The whole room froze.

A tomato fell out of Spain’s mouth.

Germany dropped his stack of papers on the table with a resounding _thump_.

Greece snored in a corner of the room.

France stumbled backwards, dumbstruck.

England’s eyes belatedly widened with surprise at America’s outburst. His grip loosened and then tightened in America’s shirt collar.

“You…” England hissed, voice just barely seething.

That’s when the room exploded with shouted questions.

“How long has this gone on?”

“At least ten years!” America said. “Probably more!”

“Are you guys married?”

“Of course!” America removed a golden band laced with emeralds from his pants pocket and slipped it onto his ring finger for everyone to see. Gasps and whispers rippled around the room.

“Is Eyebrows any good in the sack?” one brave soul asked.

“Of course he is!” America answered, as blase as ever. “In fact, he’s so good in the sack that he’s expecting our kid in a few months!”

“ _Huh?_ ” the entire room cried in unison.

“How have I not noticed any changes in his scent?” France asked, still struck with disbelief.

“England uses some kind of organic gluten-free scent-concealing lotion from Whole Foods. He’s already a great suburban white mom. Right, babe?”

America turned around with a bright grin and the room’s eyes were all suddenly trained on the man in question.

England was pouting cutely, his face flushed entirely red. His arms were crossed over a slight bump in his stomach. Still, he didn’t protest when America kissed him on the cheek and lifted him into a bridal carry.

“Only you would be so utterly idiotic as to shout out our secret when asked,” England grumbled, but his scent was so thick with affection that it filled the meeting room with the aroma of roses long after America had carried him out of the room saying something about a “ _bathroom break_ ”.

France sighed and smiled to himself while shaking his head. Truly, America and England deserved each other -- two idiots to make one whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much the stupid cliched circa-2012 Hetalia fanfic I've secretly always wanted to write.


End file.
